Prose Poem

I hate prose poetry, but maybe I like this? I had to write one for a tiny text class and came up with this in a fit of writer’s block. To get out of it, I decided to just write how I felt about the genre, or lack of genre(?), instead. So tell me: Do I like this?

Prose Poem

I don’t know whether or not a prose poem needs to look more like prose and sound like a poem or look like a poem and sound like prose, or if there’s a difference between the two. And what’s the difference between prose poems and free-verse poems? Whitman, who some say is the founder of free-verse, but before anyone else knew what to call his work, would write lines that went on and on that took up two lines, a concept that still doesn’t make much sense to me. Were the original editions these giant books where one line could be one line or were they the standard size we see today? And what’s the meaning behind one line that takes up two lines or one long line if, at the end of the day, we know that it’s all supposed to be one line? Could it just be two lines? What does that change, and how? The fact that there are no rules makes me want to say this is dumb. I feel dumb writing this, but there’s something pleasant about just writing, eliminating genre. I feel a flow, but it could just be bullshit. Should I indent this, or include a title? What if I don’t?


I wrote this poem for one of my best friends. I loved writing this as much as I loved him. I’m sure you know we all miss you!


It took the entire day to convince him
to take me on a walk. I wanted to explore
the neighborhood and
what goes on beyond the
backyard and houses
to the left and right. I want to
see the trees, the tall oaks
in the preserve, their acorns
always hurt my little feet
when I walk along the rooted paths.
We settled for a quick walk—
to see my friend Eddie who’s always looking for me.
The trip to his house is nice but I always get
Distracted by the cars and trucks their horns
are always too loud they hurt
my ears and I can’t think I want to run
but I’m always being held back. I’m told
the street isn’t safe to cross and I can’t
just run wherever I want,
but it’s instinct.
My daddy keeps me close by
while we walk down
the sidewalks, mindful of
the broken glass and dirty objects
with the funny smells. I run
around the poles to see how long it takes
him to catch me.
He has such long legs compared to mine.
I wonder what it’s like to be a giant,
to have to bend down
low to show me love, a pat on the back,
and a cookie, with a nice bowl of ice water,
and a nap until dinner time of course.
The clouds in the sky start to grey and I
can feel and smell and even taste the
trouble in the sky. I pull back towards
home as fast and as hard as I can.
Daddy knows I’ve had enough.
My mind starts racing and my little legs
Can’t keep up. I stop, scared,
in the middle of the street.
A big brown truck with the mailman I hate,
Who’s always at our house, who’s always
ignoring me when he leaves the boxes
I love to rip up, comes
roaring down the road and I want to bark
at him and make him stop. If he gets out
I’ll rip him to shreds.
I’ll tear that brown uniform apart. He’s,
he’s—lucky to be in that big brown truck.
The vibrations rattle all my organs and I can’t think I
have to stop and rest.
Otherwise I won’t know where I am.
Daddy picks me up and takes me home,
when we get back, that familiar car
in the driveway tells me
mommy’s home so I run and bark and grab my toys,
my mouth is full but as soon as I see her
she says “Hi, baby!” and it’s
all okay again.

One Moment

A little girly, but I’ve been coming up with a lot of nice lines to work with lately. My original intent was to somehow put them into a story, but I think they fit better like this. You be the judge. Enjoy.

One Moment

One moment, a smile, is all I need
to run away with you for a lifetime.
As the sun hangs on by a thread in the sky
hitting the snow covered evergreens,
as the setting sun reflects on the pond,
as deer poke their heads through the tall, dead grasses,
and coyotes and owls howl in the distance;
as the purple, industrial night sky sits
on top of the orange street lights,
a commercialized sunset,
a lonely star emerges next to the moon.
As I look out my window, and look back at you,
and the different shades of blue in the ocean,
seals playing in the freezing water, seagulls
scavenging the shores and piers for food,
I float through the thoughts in my mind:
your hand in mine, and a smile
that every girl hopes to smile, laughing
a laugh that can only come from the one she loves.


I wrote this while listening to Free (extended version) by Zac Brown Band. I don’t apologize for stealing the title. I have to write a ten page story, and another monologue based off a stranger’s characteristics for class so as soon as I get that done, I’ll post those here. The monologue is due sooner, so expect that first.

In case you’re wondering, everything is going well. I finally got my first iPhone for my birthday! I don’t want to sound dramatic, but I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this for so long. School is going well. My contemporary lit class is really interesting, even though the theory side of it is incredibly tough and makes me question everything I know as a reader. We just read Jonathan Franzen’s newest book Purity. If you’ve read Franzen before (I hadn’t) it reads just like anything else he’s written (according to my professor, who has read his early works). We found Purity to be incredibly sexist and in a way childish. There’s a moment where the narrator talks about how all the literary greats are named Jonathan. Who does that?

Anyways, enjoy the poem! It’s easy to get caught up on how bad Franzen is as a writer and human being.


Free from the thoughts that plague my mind
I wish to be a kinder person,
free to float through the suburban sky and unwind.
I imagine you next to me on the beach
watching the sunset, the ocean offering to teach
us to appreciate the time we have together,
how good things come and go,
uncontrollable like the weather,
dynamic as the small sandbar we’re sitting on,
gone in a second, when everything seemed
to move so slow.
I see us in the fall, listening to the leaves
break underneath our feet, holding each other close,
my flannel’s sleeves peaking through your coat.
On the way home, we drive down the street
paved with gold from the sun,
and white-washed skies turn to sunset.
Our story longs to be told,
of how the ocean breeze, the violent seas,
couldn’t break us apart like the old oak trees.

Last Time

I’m not sure how I feel about how repetitive this is. At first I was just intending on free writing, but it turned into another poem. I decided yesterday I’m going to take a break from all this–not writing, but the inspiration behind these poems and stories–and focus on making myself happy. We’ll see how long that lasts. Enjoy this poem. I plan to focus on prose as grad school slowly sneaks up on me.

Last Time

Her smile was enough to effortlessly hold the universe together.

Her hair blowing in the wind, light brown, almost blonde,

could knock him to his knees.

Her hands were electric, shocking him every time they touched.

Her body was synonymous with marble.

Her eyes, a gateway to her soul–and mine.

Red lips like wine, an artist’s design.

Her disappointment, arms crossed, tilted head,

dead eyes, reminds you of your mother’s when you failed a test.

Your disappointment in losing her,

like your favorite toy secretly sold at a garage sale,

makes you doubt yourself and everything you once knew.

You thought you knew what’s best, how she’s just like the rest,

but as she left, your heart bursts from your chest.

You scream come back! and her back stays turned,

your last look before she walks off into someone else’s arms.

Walden Poetry

I’m going to do something very different. A while ago, I saw someone was picking words from each line every page of Infinite Jest and turning them into poems. I’m going to try to do the same, but with Walden. I’ll try it with one page to start and see how it goes. Try it with your favorite book!

Walden Poetry – Page 66

I went to the woods because
I wished to live deliberately,
and see if I could not learn what it had to teach.
I did not wish to live what was not life.
I wanted to live deep
and suck out the marrow of life.

Still we live meanly, like ants,
like pygmies we fight with cranes.
Error upon error,
clout upon clout,
Our life is frittered away by detail.
Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!
Let your affairs be as two or three,
not a hundred or a thousand.

Simplify, simplify.

I’m Ready, Are You?

I don’t know what to call this. Some sort of combination between free writing and free verse. Poetic free writing? Does that make sense? Either way, it’s a mess, like myself right now. So much is going on and I’m in zero control. All I can do is buckle up. The journey hasn’t been easy and it will only get harder. For the most part, things haven’t been good lately. I’ve had some nice moments, but the don’t seem to last as long as I’d like them to. I don’t know why they don’t. But I’ll continue to hope they do. What else can I do?

I’m Ready, Are You?

I’m tired of talking to those
who want me to feel better
about why I don’t, and what I can do
to be the person of my dreams.
Instead, I want to simply be happy,
happy with myself, with what I do,
happy with you.
I want to stay true to who I am.
I don’t just want these things;
I need them.
I need to sit on the beach
and collect my thoughts.
I want you to be there with me,
in my arms,
your head on my chest,
heart pounding,
nothing to say, nothing to be said.
I want to share a moment with you
but the moment never ends.
Instead, I think about myself,
what’s going wrong: everything.
I struggle every day to believe
I’m not worthless,
that I deserve to be happy.
I live for others, for you.
Without you, I don’t know what to do,
And the problem is
I don’t know who you are yet.
Every time I think I know,
I realize how little I’ve experienced,
and there’s no way for me to know
what the future has in stock.
Who is ready to step up and join me?
Is it selfish of me to believe that I can be happy?
I can’t be the only one hoping for honesty.
But hope is always in the background,
the family friend you forgot,
but knows you better than you do
even after all these years.
I can’t shake hope.
I hope that one day,
my hopes become reality.
My hope is you become my reality.
I hope to live for you,
die for you,
and you will do the same for me.
I hope you show up sooner
rather than later.
I’m tired of the anxiety attacks,
I’m tired of feeling depressed.
I’m ready to move forward,
with you.